Not What It Seems
by texaspeach
Summary: Three Sons contemplate how their relationships really work.
1. Gohan

Dedicated to Kudari-chan, who inspired me to write Goku's POV in the first place.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragonball Z. Period, dot, end of statement.

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**Gohan**

I'm being carried in someone's arms, even though I'm fourteen and perfectly able to get to bed myself. I must have fallen asleep on the couch again while finishing my homework. Everything's a bit fuzzy; I'm in that place between being asleep and being awake. I can tell that it's Gohan though. I shift a bit to try and find a better position and he awkwardly lifts a hand and runs it through my hair, whispering, "Shh, Goten, I have you." I snuggle into his chest, listening to the strong heartbeat next to my ear as I sleepily consider Gohan's place in my life.

Father: a male parent. If you look at this part of the definition, then I suppose that Goku is my father. And he is, biologically speaking. Our mirror images of when we were young prove that without a doubt. I love my father very much, but let's face it: he wasn't there for the first seven years of my life. All I knew about him was that I looked almost exactly like him, he was the man that made my mother cry, and he was the man that caused my brother to go very quiet whenever he was talked about more than just in passing. Regardless of his friends and family telling him otherwise, he knew that it was his fault that Goku had sacrificed himself at the Cell Games. I've never seen him cry about it though; I don't think I've ever seen him cry about anything. Piccolo told me once that my brother was a crybaby when they first met, although he did admit that Gohan was being forced to fight the bad guys at age five. Not in those words, of course. I can't imagine Piccolo of all people saying "bad guys".

They tell me that Gohan was always mature for his age. Dende said that back when they were on Namek, Frieza nearly killed Krillin and Gohan went berserk. He pretty much pounded the lizard into the ground in revenge before grabbing Krillin and escaping. Gohan was five, maybe six. How many five-year-olds would fight the monster trying to kill them instead of running away?

My favorite story about my big brother has always been when he defeated Cell. He defended Vegeta when he didn't have to – after all, it was Vegeta's fault in the first place that Cell had been able to swallow up Android 18 and morph into his final stage in the first place. Gohan still took the hit, messing up one of his arms so badly that he couldn't use it. And even though he was injured and tired and everything else that goes with being in a huge battle and Cell was better than new, Gohan managed to defeat Cell anyway. I've heard Bulma lamenting over the fact that Gohan grew up so quickly after that, especially after he learned that Mom was pregnant with me.

Six months after the Cell Games ended, I was born. Gohan really was the man of the house now, having to take care of our mother and me. He was the man I looked up to the most, more than anyone either of us knew. He was always there for me, always ready to go do things. If I wanted to go outside and play, he would sneak out of his room when he was supposed to be studying just to come with me. He was always worried that I would get hurt or get into trouble if he wasn't there and to be honest, that was almost always what happened if he wasn't. He was the one to hug me when I was sad, to kiss my scrapes and bruises and magically make them better, and to comfort me when I had a nightmare and crawled into bed with him. I have so many memories of being held in his arms and thinking that nothing could ever hurt me while I was there. The strongest person in the world was lying right there beside me, keeping guard against the monsters that I couldn't see but knew were there, just waiting for their chance to eat me. A second definition of the word father: one deserving the love and respect given to a father. For me, growing up without my true father, there was only one person who fit that description, and that was Gohan.

I always called him Gohan or big brother and he always called me Goten or squirt, but we knew what those unspoken names between us were. I think that Goku knew it too. Vegeta says that Goku is a third-class imbecile with rocks for brains (although he uses words slightly less kind than mine), but I think that Vegeta underestimates him. Whenever Goku smiles at me, his smile is always a little sad. I think he knew exactly what kind of bond Gohan and I had the moment he returned to Earth for the tournament and he's never tried to interfere with it since. We train together, we live together, and we drive Mom crazy together. We're close, but it's more of a stepfather-stepson kind of way than anything else. I call him Dad, he calls me son; it's expected of us, so we provide. But we both know that it's just a show. Just a front. Just a façade.

Gohan quietly opens the door and eases through it, trying not to wake me up. It's a fruitless exercise, seeing as I'm already awake. I'm surprised that he hasn't realized it yet. I peek through my lashes at his face. He looks like he's thinking hard about something, although what that something is I can't tell. Probably something for his classes – none of his students realize how much work he puts into his job. He was probably still awake and just coming down for a snack when he found me.

He lays me down on the bed and hesitates for a brief second, obviously considering whether or not to change me into my pajamas. He always changes my clothes instead of waking me up. I still don't understand why he does it, but I haven't asked him about it. I probably never will either. It's just one of those weekly rituals, I guess. He covers me with the blankets and tucks me in; he must have realized at some point during the trek to my room that I'm at least semi-awake. The bed dips slightly and I only realize that Gohan sat down when he begins stroking my hair gently. Oh, he could do that all night and I wouldn't complain…

I'm nearly asleep when he finally stops and rises to his feet. He crosses the room quietly, opening the door.

"Night, Dad," I say sleepily, opening my eyes to look at him. He's looking back at me, an unreadable expression on his face. We stare at each other for a moment. Well, he stares. I'm trying to keep my eyes open. Then he smiles.

"Goodnight, son." He leaves, closing the door. I smile as one last thought drifts through my head.

'Goku might be my father, but Gohan is my dad.'

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~tp


	2. Goten

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragonball Z. Period, dot, end of statement.

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**Goten**

I glance at the clock and stare at it in surprise. Man, it's already 2 in the morning! Surprising, since Videl normally comes in to pull me out by my ear if she thinks I'm working too late. Pan must have worn her out today. If our daughter can wear a Saiyan out, it's no surprise that she can do it to her fully-human mother as well. I still don't know how Mom did it and she raised two of us. You could even go so far as to say three, counting Dad.

I yawn, taking off my glasses and rubbing my eyes tiredly. I'm exhausted. That's the problem with being a professor. If you don't care, then you'll get all the sleep you need and then some. I care about my students. That means staying up all hours of the night, trying to find something that will keep them entertained and learning at the same time. Easier said than done, I'm afraid, especially since I teach at a university. I get up, stretching. Might as well head down to the kitchen for a little snack. Coffee, too.

As I walk down the hall and into the living room, I find Goten sprawled out on the couch, sound asleep, papers scattered around him. I can't help but smile at the familiar picture; this happens at least once a week, if not more. Picking up the papers, I realize that it's his homework. Mom'll kill me if it's not done, but as I decipher the chicken scratch that Goten passes off as writing, I see that he finished it. Stacking the papers neatly on the coffee table, I turn around and pick my brother up easily. I could just wake him up and send him off to bed, but I've put him to bed ever since this tradition began. No need to change the routine unnecessarily. He shifts slightly and I run a hand through his hair a bit awkwardly, considering that I'm holding him bridal style. "Shh, Goten, I have you," I whisper. He quiets instantly, face buried against my chest just like when he was a baby and I was looking after him because Mom was exhausted.

It suddenly hits me that he's fourteen now. He's growing up. He's gotten so big; I remember when he was small enough to fit in one arm. Now it takes both my arms and a bit more strength just to lift him, let alone keep holding him. Not that he's heavy, but still, I miss those days when he was just a baby. He'd lift his chubby little arms up to my face, demanding to be picked up, and when I did he would always manage to grab a fistful of hair and pull with all of his considerable might. It was his favorite game and I, the doting older brother that I was, played along until he grew out of it. I think that I was perpetually half bald for a good six months before he finally grew out of it.

As he and I both grew older, our relationship evolved into something more complicated. It wasn't just an older brother-younger brother bond that we had. It was something more. My feelings were becoming more paternal than fraternal, and for good reason. As he neared the age where discipline was going to have to be applied regularly, I found myself having to be the judge and jury more and more often. I didn't want to bother Mom with incidents that she wasn't around for, mostly because regardless of my age it would sound like I was tattling on him. ("Mom, Goten broke the table!" Yeah, that definitely doesn't sound like tattling at all.) I hated punishing Goten; he had Dad's puppy dog eyes down to a tee and it was always really hard to keep my resolve. More often than not it was the fear of Mom's "Almighty Frying Pan of Doom" that made me stick to my guns rather than the fact that what Goten did was wrong. And of course, you can't just spank a kid that's half-Saiyan. He spends half his day being pounded into the ground somehow; he won't feel a slap to the backside. Mostly the threat of skipping a meal or actually having to skip one was enough to convince him, but if it was really bad or he kept doing the same thing over again I would tell him that he couldn't come with me while I trained, and helping me train was his "number one favoritest thing to do in the whole world!" His words, not mine.

Helping me train might have been his favorite pastime, but he would only be able to do it for so long before his attention span – or lack thereof – kicked in and he started wandering around the forest where we were at. He was young, after all, not to mention that he was almost exactly like Dad; he attracted trouble like honey attracted bees. That's probably a very over-used cliché, but I don't know how else to describe it – he almost always got into trouble when he left my sight. I've lost count of the number of times I've had to save him from falling off a cliff or being eaten by an angry dinosaur or something else life-threatening. I wouldn't be surprised if he did it on purpose, just so I could come and save him. That was his favorite part, I think, me coming to the rescue. I would scold him for running off, he would tearfully apologize, all would be forgiven, and the cycle would repeat itself the next time I let him come with me to help me train.

One of my favorite things about when he was young was when he had a nightmare and crawled into bed with me. I didn't love it because he had a nightmare, of course, but because of how it made me feel. As we lay there, his small body shaking with fear, face pressed into my chest, silent tears soaking my shirt, I felt needed. He almost never went to Mom, even though she had made it clear that he could come to her for anything he might have needed. He always came to me. I was the one who made his scrapes heal with a single kiss (and a big bandage to keep him from messing with them), who gave him a hug when he was sad (often descending into a tickle fight that he always eventually "won"), and who kept him safe from the monsters in the closet (often just a shirt). I could be wrong – after all, we lived in the middle of nowhere and I didn't know anyone who had siblings – but I don't think that a brother, even a big brother who was eleven years older, would do all those things and not begin to feel some sort of paternal instinct.

I've always been Gohan or big brother and he's always been Goten or squirt, but we both understood what place we had in the other's life, even if it was only on the subconscious level for Goten at first. Dad picked up on it fairly quickly as well. We Son men may be dense when it comes to our own romantic relationships, but as for familial ones, I'd like to think we aren't quite so dumb. It's a good thing our friends have never truly observed the interactions between the three of us or else they would have seen how strange the dynamics of our relationship truly are.

I open the door to Goten's room as silently as possible, trying not to disturb him. I've always had a room in my house for Goten so he can get away from our mother's nagging. This is a weekly ritual, although he may not realize it; he tends to fall asleep on the couch almost every time he comes over, so I take him to his room, change him into his spare pajamas (even if he is fourteen), and tuck him in.

As I lay him down, I decide not to change him tonight. I realize that he woke up somewhat during the short journey to his bed. It won't hurt him to sleep in his day clothes for a night. After tucking him in, I sit down on the edge of the bed and start running my hand through his hair, something that I know he loves. Normally I leave him alone after I've tucked him in, but tonight I want to be close to him for some reason.

If anyone actually observed about how Dad, Goten, and I interact, they'd probably be confused. Goten and I both call Dad "Dad." I'm "Gohan" or "big brother." Goten is "Goten" or "squirt." (Yes, I do still call him that ridiculous name, even if he is fourteen and nearly as tall as I am.) Dad calls us both "son." That's how it is biologically and it's how we present ourselves to the outside world, even to our closest friends.

But the names don't mean anything. In reality, it's not nearly as clear-cut. I'm still "son" to my father, but Goten is practically a grandson. Dad certainly spoiled him enough after the whole Majin Buu fiasco, enough that I actually had to tell him to stop it. He'd just grinned at me. "You're the dad in his mind," he told me. I blinked in shock; I hadn't thought that Dad had understood the bond between Goten and me. "That makes me the grandpa and grandparents always spoil their grandchildren. It's revenge for what their children did while they were growing up," he added. Then he turned serious.

"I wish I could have been there while he was growing up," he'd said, "but I wasn't. You were. I gave you a bad example of what a father should be. I was always running off fighting battles and training and forcing you into things you weren't ready for. But regardless of the example I gave, you've been a great father to Goten. I won't interfere with that. I can't interfere. I have no right." He had a sad smile on his lips as he looked at me before drawing me into a gentle hug. "You've made me proud, Gohan."

I sigh sadly, recalling that conversation as I slowly raise myself up off the bed and make my way towards the door. Normally, Dad is too happy and carefree to have any kind of deep discussion; that was one of a very few truly intimate conversations I've had with him. I can count the number of serious discussions we've had on one hand. I've reached the door when I hear Goten suddenly speak.

"Night, Dad," he whispers sleepily.

I turn to look at him, thinking of how big a place he occupies in my life. If it weren't for him, I probably would still be beating myself up because of my battle with Cell, even fourteen years later. I knew that Dad was proud of me and all, but I still felt that it was my fault that he died. But when Goten came along, I didn't have the time to worry about the "what ifs" anymore. I made my peace with those demons the week of Goten's birth, instead focusing on helping my mother raise the baby who so resembled my father.

I smile at him as he loses his battle with his quickly-closing eyes. "Goodnight son," I reply, and gently close the door.

Goku might be his father, but I am his dad.

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~tp


	3. My Sons

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragonball Z. Period, dot, end of statement.

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**My Sons**

I watch my sons spar out in our front yard and can't help but laugh as Goten pounces on Gohan and struggles to hold him down. Gohan is still much stronger thanks to the Old Kai's training, but it's never kept Goten from trying to beat him for the past eight or so years. With reflexes slightly slowed from the years of peace, Gohan kicks Goten in the stomach, forcing my youngest to let go and grab his stomach instinctively. I wince, knowing from experience that a mule kick like that hurts. "No f-fair," Goten coughs out. "Th-that was cheap, Dad."

I step back away from the window, knowing that Gohan will look to make sure that I'm not there. I know that he's worried that I'll be angry about Goten's slip-ups, which are becoming more and more frequent. I thought that I'd explained to him that I didn't mind, but I guess I'll have to do it again. After all, it's not like I can claim to be Goten's father in anything more than blood. I don't know if I can even say that about Gohan either. Piccolo was the one who really raised him after I died, Piccolo and Chi-Chi.

I've always been the hero. I'm always the one who ends up saving the earth from its latest threat, whether it be aliens, killer androids, and the like. I don't complain – in all honesty, I like to do it. But I'm not a hero because I really want to save millions of people that I don't know from dying. Although that's a part of it, I mostly do it only because it means that I have a challenge. I can test my strength against that of a worthy enemy and see if I measure up. It's just luck that I've been able to win as often as I have, nothing more. I'd take off right now if I could sense a challenge and I'd probably do it without even giving a real goodbye.

Being a father was something I wasn't ready for when Gohan was born and I'm not really sure that I'll ever be ready for it, even though Goten's already fourteen. Thanks to all the interruptions during his childhood – dying, fighting Vegeta, fighting Frieza, living on Yardrat, dying again – Gohan and I didn't really spend much time together after his fourth birthday, other than the three years of training for the androids and the year in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber. The Cell Games made it quite clear to me that I wasn't cut out to be a father when I sent Gohan out there seeing only the warrior and not the child.

I wasn't jealous at all when I saw how Gohan and Goten treated each other. It was obvious (to me, anyway) that Goten worshipped the ground Gohan walked on and Gohan treated his brother like the way Grandpa Gohan treated me when we lived together. It was Gohan that Goten looked to for permission to do things, only sometimes to Chi-Chin and never to me. It was Gohan that Goten was afraid of getting punishment from, though his punishments were never harsher than going to bed without dinner. I was quickly relegated to the grandfather position, which was something that I was infinitely more comfortable with. It meant that I could be his friend and not have to play the "daddy" card, not that I remember ever playing that card with Gohan more than once, maybe twice.

I had a talk with Gohan about Goten several weeks after Majin Buu's defeat. Rather, he had a talk with me, for "spoiling" Goten. I had been letting him do pretty much whatever he wanted to do as a sort of apology for forcing him to fight the pink creature. Gohan had been quietly getting angrier and angrier as those weeks went by, but he never said a word. It was probably because he felt it wasn't his place, although I don't know for sure.

The final straw was an argument that I heard the two boys having when Goten went to Capsule Corporation and didn't return when Chi-Chi asked him to. Goten had come back looking sad and repentant, but when Gohan didn't buy it and told him that dinner wasn't an option that night, Goten started yelling at him. "Dad doesn't care!" he'd said. "He said I could do whatever I want!"

What I heard Gohan say hurt more than I thought it would. "Dad hasn't been here for the past seven years," he replied. "He hasn't raised you. You will do what I tell you until Mom tells you otherwise. Do you understand?" Goten stomped off to his room after giving a muttered affirmative. When he reached his room I could hear him through the thin floors of our house, throwing a tantrum.

Gohan looked like he wanted to follow his brother, but he spotted me lurking in the hallway. The last time I'd seen his eyes that cold was when he ascended to the second level of Super Saiyan and I had to swallow in trepidation when I saw them. He was really angry and being the target of his ire was an uncomfortable place to be. "You need to start acting like his father and not like his best friend," he said quietly. I winced visibly and I know he noticed it. "He's going to be completely spoiled at this rate and that's not what Mom wants. Mom can't keep him under control if you keep undermining her like this. If I'd been gone this long without her permission I'd have been grounded for life and you would have agreed with her! Now you're letting him get away with a slap on the wrist and Mom doesn't have the heart to disagree with you right now. She just got you back."

I didn't know how to get out of this one until I remembered that Goten treated Gohan as his father. I smiled at this realization, something that took Gohan by complete surprise. "You're the dad in his mind," I told him. "That makes me the grandpa and grandparents always spoil their grandchildren."

I could see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to make sense of this startling revelation, so I tried to make it easier on him and explain. I'm not sure that I did a very good job of it – even though I told him that I didn't have any right to interfere with their relationship, he still worries about what I might do if I hear the conversation. Maybe if I'd told him that I didn't have any desire to be Goten's "dad" as such we might not be having this problem of him searching for me any time Goten uses a variation of the forbidden word.

Gohan stops looking around to see if I'm in hearing distance and grins back at Goten, secure in his knowledge that I can't hear. "Well, maybe if you wouldn't leave yourself so wide open, we wouldn't be having this problem, son," he teased. "I thought I taught you better than that!" Goten growls and leaps back at his laughing brother, who jumps out of hitting range and laughs harder as the younger boy falls flat on his face. I laugh too, watching them brawl so ferociously. They spar for a few more minutes before Goten finally gains the upper-hand and manages to toss Gohan out of their makeshift ring. It appeared sometime during the seven years I had been in the Otherworld. Chi-Chi told me that the two boys took great pains to make it just like the rings in tournaments. Gohan's influence, no doubt – he always wanted to do everything correctly, no matter what it was that he was doing.

Goten starts celebrating, doing a strange victory dance that I'm pretty sure that he and Trunks made up as children and Gohan sits up, a proud paternal smile on his lips as he watches the spectacle. I smile as well, though it's probably sadder than my eldest's is. I might be their father, but our relationship is more complicated than that.

After all, I might be Goten's father, but Gohan is definitely his dad.

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~tp


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